Zoom into My Heart
by xxXZaredLover6969Xxx
Summary: Two big boiis find love in unexpected memes. Pls end my life I haven't felt joy in many years.
1. Spoken Language

**Part 1, Chapter 1:** **Spoken Language**

" _Preferring to avoid using spoken language, speech that sounds very monotonous or flat, speaking in pre-learned phrases, rather than putting together individual words to form new sentences, seeming to talk "at" people, rather than sharing a two-way conversation"_

It was just a regular Tuesday in your regular life. You strolled down the damp sidewalk, lined with freshly budding dogwood trees. These streets you have walked since childhood we're all but barren, the townspeople sheltered to escape the midday rain. The sun hid behind the gray, freshly rained clouds, setting a perfect atmosphere to your melancholy mood as you strolled into your favorite, mormon friendly coffee shop. You lifted off your hoodie and whipped your head back and forth to dispel the droplets of rain water that had seeped through the thin fabric of your green and gold water polo sweatshirt.

You swiped a hand through your damp hair as your eyes pick up something in your peripheral. A large mirror on an oak frame, surrounded by pictures of other white people, sipping on their high calorie, whipped cream-topped "coffee". You turn your body to face the mirror and take a good look at your wet features.

Ash brown hair, matted down on top of your head from the rain, laid on top of an almost translucent white globe of a face, monochromatic save for a galaxy of brown freckles that dot your puffed cheeks from the hem of your jawline to the bridge of your nose. A perfect contrast to the bright green blue of your almost feminine eyes lined with dark black eyeliner and powder pink of your thin lips. Your doll-like face comfortably resting on a slightly chubby body, adorned with your favorite water polo hoodie and tight purple booty shorts.

"Damn Jared…" You sigh under your breath, "How did an attractive piece like you end up dryer than a female pussy with David in a mile radius?"I mean even for a mormon it seemed like love continued to escape you at every turn.

You huffed again as you turned away from the mirror and trudged to the cashier to order a weak breakfast tea. A drink as bland as your sex life but the only one that mormons were allowed to drink.

The overly happy cashier smiled as your ordered your shitty drink and told her your name was, "Slamming". You though that when she would yell that out that it would make for a very spicy meme. And to be honest, memes were the only reason that you still continue living. If only you could make your heart as happy as the dank memes did. But that seemed like it would be a far cry away from the present.

When the barista properly memed, you walked over and collected your lukewarm, sewer water and stalked grumpily to your seat to drink in peace. You rested your cup on the mahogany table and gaze out the adjoining window at the lazily moving clouds as they drifted away, letting slivers of sunlight pierce into the old cement streets.

When would it be your turn to experience true love? You thought you had found it in your last boyfriend. But you were blinded by his perfect body and his quality memes. Luckily you had only given him you heart and not your body so he wasn't able to take your mormon powers away from you when he left you for another. Now that you thought about it, you had never found out who had averted his eyes. In anycase, it still destroyed you when he walked out, taking all of your body pillows and gay, furry erotica with him. Maybe you should text one of your friends to ask if they could set you up with someone. But knowing their sexual prowess, maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea…

Sipping on your tea and deep in your thoughts you hadn't heard the chime to the doorbell ring or the order that had been placed. It was only when you hear the barista scream out did you look up from your morose thoughts.

" **SLAMMMMMMIIIIINNNNNNG** " Her voice rang out through the coffee shop and wetted the pants of everyone as they were reminded of Ethan Bradbury.

Well, everyone except for you as your head shot up from your tea and your eyes darted to the service counter. _You hadn't ordered anything else, had you? Why was the barista memeing again? Was she mocking your dank, stinky memes? Does this nigga dead ass finna die?_

Just as you were squaring up to drop the hottest roast of 2016 your eyes fell upon a large man who walked over and received the drink from the worker. Your mouth dropped as you laid your eyes on possibly the most attractive human you had ever seen.

He was huge, body wise and, as you expected, probably in his pants too. His oval shaped body looked smooth and warm, his chest was adorned with two saggy, squishy moobs that you fantasized laying your head on. His legs were thick and hairy like a tall redwood going through a sex change. Hugging his greek god-like body were a pair of old, stained light gray running shorts that came to hang right above his knees. His shirt was in a similar state to his pants, a washed out gray with some mysterious stains on it that made you wonder when the last time he washed his clothes was. Over that was an over-sized, black leather jacket that spread over his back and down his arms accentuating his low hanging, chubby arms that you yearned to be held in. You lingered your eyes on the cursive, pink pink lettering across the back that wrote out, " **2Zoom4You** ". But it was his face that drew in your gaze the most. Twinkling blue eyes hiding under dusty brown hair, greasier than Donald Trump's tax returns. A bright smile stretched across his sweaty, red face, making his sexy eight chin stick out under the hazy light of the cafe.

Every second you stared at this masterpiece of a man you could feel your belief in religion slip and your boiipussy moisten. Beads of sweat formed on your hairline ran down to get caught in your overgrown eyebrows. Your breath quickened and your body temperature rose considerably. With every move he made, his entire body jiggled with him, especially when he turned to look you right in the eyes.

 _Oh… Oh god! He's looking at me! Why? Do I look weird? Is my makeup not on fleek? Did I forget to wear my mormon purity belt today and he can sense my moistness?_ All of these thoughts raced through your head and the mysterious zoomer in the leather jacket, walked over to your table.

"Hey there cutie. Why are you lookin' so nervous?" A musky voice snapped you out of your stupor. Bright blue eyes looked down at you cheekly. You felt the redness on your cheeks spread to the rest of you boyish face and down to your equally boyish pussy.

"I'm Zach. How ya zoomin'?" He quirked, simile widening across his glorious face. And it was at that time that you realized,

you were in for some hot, stinky memeing.


	2. Responding to Others

**Part 1, Chapter 2:** **Responding to Others**

" _Taking people's speech literally and being unable to understand sarcasm, metaphors or figures of speech, reacting unusually negatively when asked to do something by someone else"_

 _How ya zoomin'? What the hell in Camera's sister's mustardy vagina does that mean?_ You mentally slapped yourself in the back of the head. You had been so captivated by his boyishly cute charms that you lost yourself in walking over here and starting a conversation with him. You thank the god, Papa John, that you didn't zoom your way over to his table, you could of killed everyone in the coffee shop if you had done that.

You looked back down at the adorable boy who captivated you, eyes wider than your geometry teacher's ass. Feeling yourself getting lost in the bright green-blue globes, you coughed in attempt to dispel your dazed head.

"I'm Zach," you continued, voice a little too musky as you narrowly avoided a voice crack. Your chest tightened as you cringed a little more externally; the triple F Victoria Secret bra you were wearing strained against your sensitive under-moobed ribs.. You winced as you felt your large bagel-sized areolas rub uncomfortably on the lacy fabric.

"I-I'm Jared," He sheepishly replied. His eyes darted down as his cheeks flushed. You noticed his pitch black eyeliner that reached from his inner eye to the tips of his ear. Usually he would think this bitch is extra af, but with Jared all you could see is a fire ass hoe, ready to throw her ass in a circle.

And with those bootylishious purple shorts he was sporting, you liked to think he did just that.

You shifted on your feet as heat pooled into your expansive stomach and downward., lighting your groin in a way you had only felt with one other person. But the mental image of Jared ass up, stretching the stitches on those purple shorts, just for you…

 _No Zach…_ You chastised yourself in your head. _Not again… Not since him._ You shook the looming, rhinophymatous thoughts from your mind.

"So do you go to school around here?" you brightened as the boy perfection known as Jared met you gaze again. He blushed again, an action, that you recently found, made you harder than the Japanese steel of a kamikaze plane before a dive bomb on the filthy capitalist Americans.

"Actually I don't go to school; I work." He shyly mummered. Your eyes darted to the chair across from him, praying that Jared would allow you to continue this conversation with him. He grinned and nodded. You noticed the dimples that made indents in his creamy, freckle sprinkled skin. Like a cake from your birthday. And similar to an entire cake, you wanted Jared all to yourself.

"So where do you work?" You said while sitting down on the tan, whicker stool that stood against the hard, cherry colored wood table. The stool groaned almost painfully under your weight.

"It's a secret," He chuckled as if in on a joke that you weren't.

"Oh why's that?"

"We're in a mormon cafe, I can't just certain secrets out there," Jared winked. _God_ you wish you could punish him for hiding himself from you. One day you wanted to see it all. To explore every dark, deep and dirty part of Jared. _But not yet…_ "But enough about me!" He quipped, "What about you?"

Pride flared through you at the chance to brag about yourself. "Well I'm currently attending The College of Future Determined Intellectual Athletes, for Bettering the Effigy To Every Size, or the College of Future Diabetes to be short." Jared's face lit up in the way only a prepubescent boy questioning his sexuality could.

"Wow," He breathed, then jumped out of his admiration as something that seemed like recognition flashed across his face as if he had remembered something important…

"What are you thinking about, sweet cheeks?" You were trying to remember all the tips kissing pranks on Youtube had taught you about picking up hot cuties.

"Nothing Zach." He flushed again at the taste of your name against his tongue. Though, you didn't notice. "For now, I just want to hear more about you."

You had to catch yourself for a moment before you were completely detached from the current situation. A beautiful, chubby prince named Jared, though it should've been Apollo, wanted to hear more about you. You bowels twisted in an unfamiliar way. Just the view of the boy with the pink dimples and ashy brown hair sitting across from you in the coffee shop, hazy sunlight filtering in from the cracks in the wooden walls, streaming around him as if they were presenting God's perfect specimen to you, was almost enough to take your breath away. You would have to praise Papa extra hard tonight.

Your mouth felt dry so you shakily brought your now slightly lukewarm drink to your lips. ' _El Frap de La Clamato"_ Your favorite. A perfect drink for a romantic spring afternoon.

"Well…" you begin, "When I'm not in school I lead a gang."

"A gang?" Jared's eyebrows piped up.

"Yeah it's nothing too big. Just a group with me and my roommates. Though lately we've lost a good portion of our members…" You trailed off. A nasally laugh filled your ears as if your memories could make noise and your anus twitched with a familiar longing. _No… he doesn't need to know that now._

Jared, as if sensing your inner torment kindly broke your turbulent thoughts, "Do you have a name for your gang?"

Happy for the change in topics, you whipped your too broad and meaty shoulders to the side to flash him the back of your worn leather jacket, pink letters popping out. "We're called the Floop's Fooglies." You held up the patented gang sign with your sausage shaped fingers. "My code name is Zoomin' Zach."

Jared latched onto his bottom lip with his front teeth; a seductive gaze flashed over his once shining eyes. You also wanted to feel the plump strawberry lip between your teeth. You wanted to taste him. In your mind his sweat tasted of Clamato.

Again shaking your head, you heard Jared continue, " I think it fits you" _I bet it's not the only thing of mine that could fit you._ You smiled darkly then swallowed,

"Well maybe you'd like to see the Zoomin' Zach in person…"

He swiped his tongue over his sore looking lips, distracting your eyes once again before beginning to reply. "Well I…"

" **SOMEBODY ONCE TOLD ME"**

A beautiful melody cut both of you out of your conversation. Jared fumbled in the one pocket that could fit on the circulation-cutting shorts and pulled out his cellphone.

"Ah shit on my dick I have to go" He gathered up his things and hastily stood up.

"W-Wait!" Your cool exterior broke as Jared was already speed walking his way to the exit. His child-bearing hips knocking over any table that dared stand in his way. "I don't know anything but your name! How will I see you again?" You frantically yelled, still in your seat at the now lonely table.

He stopped, turned his head and shot you the most brilliant and knowing smile you had ever seen on another person, stretched across his perfect, virginal face.

"Don't worry we'll be seeing each other again." Is all he said before opening the door and leaving you, dumbfounded. You felt a doubt in your heart that his words couldn't possibly be true and that the boy you met today you fall right out of your life just as he had fallen into it.

But Papa had other plans.


	3. Interacting with Others

**Part 1, Chapter 3:** **Interacting with Others**

" _Not being aware of other people's personal space, or being unusually intolerant of people, entering their own personal space, not understanding how people normally interact socially, such as greeting people or wishing them farewell, being unable to adapt the tone and content of their speech to different social situations, not enjoying situations and activities that most children of their age enjoy"_

It was dark. So dark that you lost the ability to tell whether your eyes were open. The type of darkness that weighs heavy on your lungs and makes you question if you were ever able to see anything in the first place. The darkness felt like a discontented hug of unconsciousness occluding any shred of your compos mentis as if an achromatic shield from behind your eyelids stood vigil as a minder.

But you didn't remember asking Stephen's mom to sit on your face today.

In any case, you slowly sat up from the bed that had been sheltering you for the past 13 hours. Your hand reached around to your bedside table in blind search for the felt the cool, metal bauble agents your lamp sting and you tugged. Light filled your room and shone on your decor. You liked a sleek, simplistic feel to your room, adorned about were only the absolute necessities of modern design. Nsfw fanart for Paul Blart Maul Cop was plastered along the hot pink walls of your room. Since the holiday season was so close you had added some limited edition Shrek Christmas themed posters from the 2007 smash hit holiday television special, Shrek the Halls. The fact that such a thing existed still makes your panties moist to this day.

You put your feet on the ground for what felt like the first time in weeks and dragged yourself out of bed to start your morning rituals. Luckily, you one owned one pair of clothes that you never changed nor washed, so it was a relatively quick process. Kneeling down to the picture of the holy Papa you said your daily prayer for better ingredients, better pizza. Afterwards, you meandered over to your walk in closet, shelves filled on both sides with most fire J's and Tims money could buy. You had them all custom designed to light up so when you took a step they lit up like a pair of 9-year-olds skechers. When you zoomed by, niggas had to know who the fuck they were dealing with.

You slipped on your pair of Air Jordan 12s flu game addition, fitted with nipple pink lights and strutted out of your room to the main area of your apartment. It could've been a normal day today and in a way your felt like you could pretend that it was. But it wasn't. It could never be a normal day ever again, no matter how much you wished for it. After yesterday, you had left the corporeal realm, now unable to effect the world, all you could do is watch as it turned on its own. Your life had changed forever and yet the world had stayed exactly the same. All because you met Jared. That beautiful, goddess had trespassed in your mind and it didn't seem like he was ever leaving.

 _I wanted to see him again. I wanted to see him again so badly. But how? He told me that we'd meet again but all all I know is his name! I wanted him to get my panties wet, not my eyes!_

You stalked into the living room, head turned toward the floor in pure disbelief that you would ever see the boy of your dreams ever again, when you were met with a truly titillating sight. Two huge, perfectly shaped asscheeks, attached to the largest, most thicc thighs known to man, were facing you, as if looking into the very depths of your soul, caressed by the thinest, tightest leggings you ever seen. No other pants were able to contain such a curvaceous body and yet the black leggings were almost see through with the strain of wrapping around such legs. It seems your roommate and fellow Floogie, Stephen was doing his sensual yoga again; His downward facing dog would make most men's dicks go the opposite direction.

He was facing the T.V. lost in his yoga, that specifically trained you to take dat dick. The leather, futon coutches that usually formed a half circle around T.V. were pushed to the very edges of the room. They couldn't be too close to Stephen during his yoga time unless they wanted to be vacuuming splintered wood out of the carpet.

Standing at a safe distance you cleared your throat, "'Good morning, Stephen" He whipped his head around and jumped up, messy dirty blond hair whipped in front of his light, pale blue eyes, large, thick framed glasses resting just on the bridge of his nose. Though it usually wasn't his face people were drawn to. The real eye catcher was his perfect 10/10 body that seemed like it was more fit for a Brazilian supermodel than a barely postadolescent Floogie. Perfectly shaped triple K breasts were, as usual stuffed into a mini pink bralette. He had a pinched waist that contrasted to his almost impossibly thicc thighs. The boy had legs that could crush a man's skull between them with only a small flex. And that was usually what he did. Stephen's fighting technique was entirely offensive. At any threat to codename Thicc Thighs would end up in the most pleasurable and immediate death imaginable.

"Ah! Good Morning, Zooming Zack!" He smiled brightly, using one hand to scratch the back of his head.

You smiled. Stephen was one of the first members to ever join Floop's Floogies and he always called you by your gang name no matter what. A sort of undying respect to him to giving him a way out of his dark past. Stephen had been a high class escort for many years before he joined the Floogies. Wealthy Asian businessmen paid top yen to have those meaty thighs wrapped around their waists as Stephens whined his signature whine. The sound was similar to what you could imagine what a suffocating clarinet sounds like.

"Wow you seem tired Z.Z.! Are you okay?" Stephen shrilled as he ran up to touch his hand to your forehead, "No fever, but maybe you should take the day off today and stay home?" You grinned at his adorable concern and were just about to quell his concern when,

" **OH HELL NO HE'S NOT** " You hit the deck as searing hot bacon grease narrowly missed your head. Stephen rushed to your side and patted your back reassuringly.

Standing taught in the kitchen, a staggering 5'2" death machine known as Mallory, codename Weeb Slut, wielded a hot frying pan as if it were a weapon. Choppy, light brown hair framed a round face, bangs covering most of a Texas-sized forehead. Piercing blue eyes surrounded by pitch black eyeliner that was uncomfortably familiar and an almost constant scowl that adorned what could've been a doll-like face, if it wasn't for the murders intent reflected in her eyes. You wouldn't imagine that a cute, short girl in a navy blue and white Japanese schoolgirl uniform, short skirt and knee highs could fucking kill you but many had underestimated her and paid deadly, anal consequences.

" **あなたは死にたいですか** **?** (do you want to die?)" She growled. She tended to switch languages when she was pissed. You didn't know much of her past other than she had spent years training in the Orient and could kill a man with her roasts alone. Or by headbutting them with that fucking tumor under her bangs.

"Jesus Mallory I don't speak Chinese you dumpling fucker" You retorted, still salty from almost dying and your wayward thoughts.

"Oh you seem to be quite full of the vinegar today." Her eyes glowed. Stephen backed away for you. Mallory might be the newest member of the Floogies, but her presence made her seem more like the leader than you most times. "Should I relieve some of your butt hurt myself?" She smiled and picked a cheese grater from the gray, granite counter.

"Ugh whatever!" You backed down, not willing to put up a fight today. With the loss Jared on your mind, everything else seemed not to be worth it.

"I, um" She stuttered, lost at the sudden loss of fight. A look of what could be classified as concern flashed over her face. No matter how much of a bitch she was on the outside it was obvious to all the Floogies that she cared about them more then she let on. _She's probably still upset that she lost World War II. Her heart is all gooked up._

"A-anyway" She cleared her throat. "You can't stay in today. It's the annual anniversary of the Floop's Floggies and were all going out tonight to celebrate."

 _Today's the anniversary? Shit in my asshole I forgot. Some gang leader I am._ Stephen, seeing the concern on your face he quickly reassured you, "Ah don't worry! We already made plans for tonight! David made the reservations so you don't have to worry!"

"Yep." David muttered. You whipped your head around, not realizing David, or Borderline Autistic, was sitting cross legged on the black futon, softly typing away on his laptop that he seemed to carry around with him everywhere. David, well, he looked like Stephen's younger brother. He had similar dirty blond hair that was swept to the side, oval glasses poked out from under his hair. Due to the light from his laptop reflected into his glasses it was almost always impossible to see his eyes. His lips were drawn into a thin line as he typed quickly into the machine. He wore a black t-shirt with a le rage meme on it and plain cargo pants. You imagined he would have a neck beard if he could grow facial hair. Though they had face similarities, David's body was a bag of oobleck compared to Stephen's banging one.

He twisted his neck to the side to pop his vertebrae, while never stopping his incessant typing. That's just his power too. He just shows any attacker what's on the other side of that screen and they usually just kill themselves without David having to raise a finger.

You always wondered what was on that computer, but from the look on the mentally scarred faces of anyone who has, maybe it's not such a good idea… It's truly a miracle that the FBI has never knocked down the fucking door.

"Okay well where are we going, David?" You asked, a bit wary of a place that your friends had picked out without your input . Without looking up he answered plainly,

"Papi's MexiCan's"

"A… male strip club?" You said incredulously.

"Yup" David affirmed, again, never looking up from the screen.

"What is it not good enough for you?" Mallory spat angrily with a tone deeper than the rest of the males in the apartment,

"I just… why." You said more as a statement than a question.

Stephen stole a sideways glance at you from where he was sitting next to you on the floor, adjusting his leggings. "Well since your last break up, you've been pretty out of it so we wanted to try to cheer you up!" He reassured.

 _Oh so that's what this is about._ You cupped your face and rubbed the tiredness out of your eyes. Your last relationship had really affected you, as well as all of the Floogies. I mean you had dated and broke up with another Floogie, _one of the first Floogies,_ for Papa's sake. _Well a former Floogie._

You glanced over at an old picture in a wood frame that said on the rim, "I love my daddy". _At the time Weeb Slut had found it very amusing, but now..._ Well, you had taken last anniversary of the Floogies. You were all there, Stephen happily waving at the camera, Mallory scowling as if she wanted to burn a hole through the lens, David blankly staring straight ahead, unsure of what to do since you wouldn't let him take a photo with his "Child Porn Machine", and you were there grinning above your surplus of chins. He was there too, tall and dark and brooding. You remember why you fell in love with him all that time ago… when you broke up it tore the Floogies apart. You were all just now finding normalcy again.

You sighed, "Okay fine let's go." You doubted any of the strippers would do anything for you, especially now that Jared had made an ass-shaped imprint on your poor, unsuspecting brain. The rest of the Floogies, even David, brightened at this news. You appreciated their care. They may be the most autistic, cancerous pieces of shit in this world, but they accepted you and they were your home. And if you can find people in this world that you feel like you can be yourself around, you have to keep them close no matter what and never let go. Like David's virginity, it could never be lost.

Stephen clapped his hands together happily, "Well then let's get ready then! Mallory is done making lunch and I finished cleaning our Floogie jackets this morning so we can get going after that!"

And you did just that. After lunch you all suited up in your gang jackets that you all refused to leave home without. You wore your jacket, open and flowing, Stephen had cut his in half when he had first gotten it so that he could show off his impressive midriff, Mallory tied the sleeves of hers around her waist so you could see her weeb ass clothing, and David had zipped his all the way to the neck. Having you all matching like this definitely improved your mood from this morning. You could practically forget that Jared and turned your world upside down only a day ago.

It's not like you were ever going to see him again.

And with that you all made your way outside and on to your next adventure. At that time not know about how all of your lives were going to be changed in the next few hours.

Happy Holidays Shitfaces.


	4. Behaviour

**Part 1, Chapter 4: Behaviour**

" _Repetitive movements, such as flapping their hands, rocking back and forth, or flicking their fingers, playing in a repetitive and unimaginative way, often preferring to play with objects rather than people, developing a highly specific interest in a particular subject or activity, preferring to have a familiar routine and getting very upset if there are changes to their normal routine, having a strong like or dislike of certain foods based on the texture or colour of the food as much as the taste."_

Your world is color. Pinks and yellows and reds spin around you and shine neon. You whip your center of gravity to the cold metal pole wrapped in between your legs and spin faster. Your back arches and you feel the ends of your hair brush against the stage floor. The cheers of lust from the crowd seemed silenced by the harshly bright light in your ears. More sweat streams past your eyelids as you are suspended almost upside down, kept hanging only by the strength of your thighs, hugging the long shaft. Your arms are seductively sprawled out in front of your body, as if beckoning the hungry closer. The strain in between your legs burns so that in one fluid motion you made the choice to hoist your lustful body back up towards the pole, hands firmly grasping it, tiddies forming around it like strawberry jelly around a butter knife. Your nipple pasties were titillatingly close to falling off altogether from the force of sweat underneath them.

The shift in weight towards the pole continued to speed up your spin till you were sure that you could no longer distinguish the lights from the people from the free salad bar. All you see are stars of color in a galaxy of rhythm and you are the center of it all, the sun. bright and hot and full of toxic gas.

You prayed to the big papa in the sky for the success of your next routine and carefully brought your right leg off the pole, raised it up and wrapped it back around above your head till the tendons in your thighs and ankles screamed in protest, a familiar pain. You ignored your firing synapses and untangled you left leg from the hard shaft and in one move, pushed off. In full split, hanging on only by the curve of your right foot you 'zoomed' around the metal once again; the lights brightened and the crowd shriek in delight as you taught them why they called you the 'Mormon Mongoloid'. You made one more rotation as all of those previously dazzling lights turned black. The cheering people silenced, unsure of what was to follow. The shaded spectators temporarily blinded by the blackness, strained their eyes to speed up with their adjustment to the nothingness when one single spot light shone a warm golden light right on you, completely upside down, both of your ankles wrapped around the dangerously sweaty pole with all their strength. Your nipple pasties now residing between your teeth.

The crowd erupted. Boners straining the pants of everyone in the room. You are Jared. You are center stage. And you are the sun.

You flipped around and landed feet first on the glittery plastic stage. Your heavy, fake lashes drooping as sweat smeared your rainbow eye shadow. You lift a hand to your forehead and wipe the sweat from your brows and squint your eyes to the more direct spot lights, your thoughts drowned out by the continuous roars from the crowd. Dollar bills fell upon the stage as you picked them up and stuffed them into the elastic of your pink booty shorts. You plucked the pasties from your mouth and waved a farewell to your fans, now crying with joy and sexual frustration. You meandered your way, the best you could in 10-inch stilettos, off the moist, holographic stage.

Your heels clicked against hard, plastic flooring as you brushed past the neon purple curtain that led into a multi color, sparkly hallway of the backstage. Photos of famous customers lined the walls of the hall as a signature of achievement for the business. Powerful, straight, white men posing with the Papi's MexiCans, all of their faces, shining with arousal sweat and titty glitter. You stopped to admire the picture of with the man, the myth, the probably not fit to be in politics- Donald "Daddy" Trump. You smile to yourself as you stare into his eyes. His eyelids pinched into a squint, reminiscent of a 63-year-old, chain smoking woman's wrinkled pussylips, ragged from 5 children and a dragon dildo. Trump's writing skirted across the picture in black Sharpie, "I'd like to grab you right by your boiipussy since you remind me so much of my daughter! Haha, I'm gonna be the fucking president."

 _What a dream boat._ You moan inwardly. But someone else had grabbed you not by the pussy, but by the heart. _Zack…_ God just thinking of his name made you shiver in your cold, metal chastity belt. You knew his college was right down the street and a hulking man like that had to come to the most popular strip club in town, right? You hoped you were right. _How the hell can I stand never seeing Zack again?_ He's been the only thing on your mind the past day, his sexy, dirty blond hair and how much you'd like to run your fingers through it, his salacious body that's voluptuous folds seemed to pull you in, that 2cool4u attitude that made you want him to fuck you, hard and fast and use your poor, defenseless boiipussy as his persional pocket cunt, and _OH GOD AND JESUS TITTIES THOSE CHINS. YOU WOULD GIVE ANYTHING IF YOU COULD JUST RUB YOUR CLIT IN BETWEEN THOSE COUNTLESS FOLDS AND FEEL HIS WETNESS FROM THE LONG UNWASHED CREVICES OF HIS BODY AND-_

You almost his full climax as you walked nose first into a sliver door. "Daddy~" You moaned. You could almost taste his chin smegma when…

"Jared the fuck are you doing? Is this some fuckin' weird, cultist Mormon thing? Is this why only incesty Midwestern white people follow your weird fucking religion?" A voice as smooth as an air horn pierced your enticing thoughts. You pierced up to where the aluminum door had opened a crack and saw the might beard of the man who has won the hearts of various animals across the world, Chris. You side stepped as he opened the door the rest of the way and you stepped into yet another obnoxiously colored room. But instead of a glitzy, entertaining stage, this was the lounge room for all the Papi's Mexicans and associates.

The room, with mostly pink floral wall paper and pink, overly fuzzy carpet was filled with various wardrobe mirrors which in turn were packed full of makeup pallets and cheap perfumes of every color of the rainbow, hot hair irons burning scars into the eggshell white tables. Used ashtrays were littered around the room, giving the air a hazy smog, dulling all of the neon color from the 70's style decor. It seemed like an illegal porno could commence any moment and it would not be the first time.

Chris cleared his throat and you peered up at the burly man, massaging his fingers through his mighty beard. He had a pasty, white, thick body that seemed almost black under endless mounds of fat covered in forests of pubic like hair. He almost looked like Zack times two, wrapped in a blanket of Big Foot's anal peach fuzz. Especially his face. Midnight black hair ran all the way from the sides of his face to the top of chin; all skin underneath that bunghole bush was long lost, along with all food he's eaten in the past five years. The only saving grace of this dick cheesed beard's fucking face were his dark, brown brooding eyes, peaking out from thick crusty eyebrows. His pupils shining like a night sky with an array of spaghetti stars. He had the body of a lava lamp with the face of two gems sparkling past the taint of a 60-year-old Turkish man's beer can chode.

"Why the fuck were you moaning like that?" Chris raised a shaggy eyebrow.

"Hehe no reason in particular, Boss…" That's right, along with being the human rendition of gallon tub of moldy 'I can't believe it's not butter', Chris is also the owner of the Papi's MexiCans. He is your "pimp" except without all of the money to buy beating rings.

"Well good show out there again Jared. This month again you're our biggest money maker." He clapped his beefy unwashed hands together and the other two onlookers who you just now realized, began clapping along.

First off, edgily brooding and leaning up against a wall was Ryan. You couldn't think of a face that more screamed, 'My parents may also be siblings.' more than his. He had wet sand colored hair and glaringly angry eyes. He was almost as short as you but he held himself like he was about to write the hottest Shadow the Hedgehog fanfiction of all time. Over his creamy, white body he wore an angsty black Metallica shirt and tan brown cargo pants. Probably not the best combination of clothing, but hey he's Ryan. One of the other working girls seemed to like him quite a bit..

You are still haunted by the sounds of meowing that came from the janitorial closet.

Ryan noticed how you were staring and whipped out a butterfly knife, attempted to flip it, fucked up and cut his hand, then proceeded to wipe blood over his face like Leo DiCaprio in Django while humming Fallout Boy. _Damn this nigga is fucking edgy. No wonder he's security._

You averted your eyes from the hormonal pre-teen and looked over to the slouching figure sitting on one of the make up tables, gazing intensely at her phone. It was Papi's MexiCans very own manager Kayla, adorned in the silliest fucking clothes you've ever fucking seen. The green beanie contrasted on her bleach blond hair, brushed over her clear, bright blue eyes and gemstone nose piercing. A red and black plaid cardigan was only attempted to be buttoned, which lazily hung over her pastel pink and purple pyjama pants with kittens and unicorn and other hilarious 2009 le memes. And to top it all off, turquoise blue beach sandals under hamburger printed socks. You never thought autism could be represented to accurately by a wardrobe choice, but Kayla had a talent for sure. Her face was hard to see as it was still staring holes into her phone as she continued clapping alone. Which was especially odd because her phone had been dead for months.

"Uh… Hey Kayla." You waved, her half clap ceased. She didn't look up.

"Hey" She distractedly muttered.

"Whatcha doing?" You continued.

"Work"

"But your phone is dead Kayla"

"I couldn't find the charger"

"Th- then why are you looking at your phone?"

"I'm working"

"But it's dead."

"I couldn't find the charger."

"BUT-"

You were about to take out your golden hoop earrings and drop some mad bars on this silly bitch ass when Chris quickly cut you off, "C'mon man, you know you'll never get a straight answer out of that one."

You looked over incredulously at him, "Why do you even keep her on the payroll?".

Chris scrunched up his face, "Somehow she always gets her work done… While also not answering my text messages for over three years."

"What a frustrating bitch"

"Preach"

You both glared over at the anomaly known as Kayla for a moment longer when Ryan finally spoke up in his lispy, wet voice laced with angst,

"So Jared, you spicy vinx you, is your friend coming here tonight?"

You mentally stopped in your tracks. _How could he possibly know about Zack?_ You were still unsure if Zack would ever be com-

"Yo dude you look sweaty. Did you do something to piss off Mallory and she's coming to kick your ass again?"

 _Oh…. OH! Jared you dumbass! How could you forget that your old lady's manners school friend was stopping by tonight?!_ You and Mallory have been good friends ever since that disoriented, scruffy and wild-eyed bastard teen Jap stumbled into your 'Living with Tiddies 101" class. Apparently, she was mandated to attend your manners school by the government who felt it would help her get accustomed to western society. _Lord knows how those fucking dirty rice eaters even live. Poor thing hadn't ever even seen a dick past 1 inch._

Anyway, she had mentioned stopping by last week with some of her new roommates. You wished you could've given her a place yourself after graduation, but you were pretty much living on Chris's mom's couch along with Ryan and Kayla. So you were glad that she had finally made some friends other than you that she could live with. She seemed to be happy in her own special Mallory way. _Though you don't especially envy whoever has to live with that tiny atomic wrecking ball._

She had looked pretty excited for you to meet her roommates, but for some reason she seemed to be really upset as well. You were definitely curious about why she was so conflicted and what kind of characters she ended up with.

"Yeah she is isn't she?" You glanced at the old schoolroom clock hanging on the wall above the wardrobe Kayla was most definitely breaking. 12:42. Mallory should be showing up soon. You hobbled over to one of the mirrors in your increasingly annoying heels and padded some white powder onto your face to dry out the sheen of sweat you had been drowning in. You rubbed your fingers under your eyes to clean up the bleeding eyeliner and adjusted your XL volume fake lashes back into place. Now you looked like a prostitute that someone may pay into the double digits for.

As you were primping and priming you felt a heavy hand hit your shoulder from behind.

"Hey Jared." Chris began; his old McDonalds and cat urine smell drifted into your nostrils. "You've been working really hard and I really appreciate all you've been doing for the MexiCans but… I want you to know that you can take a break if you need to. I know how hard… him leaving you was."

Your chest tightened, your pulse rose erratically, you had to take a deep breath to calm yourself. You gripped the table in front of you like it was a lifeline. If you let go you might just break down. _It's over now Jared. You're better now. Don't think of him._ You forced a simile and looked back at Chris, whose face was contorted with worry.

"Chris really I'm fine, you don't have to worry about me so much."

He glanced down hesitantly then back up into your eyes, "I'm just scared that you're acting more okay than you feel. It's okay to ask for help, Jared. I may be your boss and also kind of your landlord but most importantly I am your friend, Jerbear."

You inwardly warmed; that was gay as fuck. Though sometimes stifling, Chris's heart was always in the right place and he had an almost older brotherly affection for all of his friends. You wiggled your hips at him and grinned.

"I'm Jared!" The Mormon Mongoloid! And I am doing great Chris! That was so long ago, I'm really alright now."

Chris grunted, "If you're sure, I trust you"

"I really am." You beamed. "Hey, wish me luck on my next show, okay? What's our motto again?"

He chuckled, all concern disappeared from his face. "We're MexiCans not MexiCan'ts."

"That's right." You winked and stuck new nipple pasties on your hearty breasts. With a roll of your shoulder and a crack of you neck you made your way out of the lounge room, only hearing a faint "Good luck." From Kayla before you shut the door behind you.

As soon as you stepped outside the room the deafening music struck you again. This time a 'We are Number 1' bass-boosted remix boomed over the speakers. All of the photographs on the wall slammed hard on the hallway as each bass was dropped _One of the other girls must be opening up for the new crowd._

You walked again through the neon hallway, a bit disoriented by the drastic change in lighting from the soft yellow of the backstage to this color polluted one. You pushed past the curtains once more and peered out to the stage. One of the veteran strippers, Kamera Schwester, was doing her signature 'Senf' dance. You didn't speak Nazi, but the smell alone was enough to make you respect her craft. You were unable to see the crowd under the offending bright light shined on the girl. _I hope Mallory made it out tonight._

The memey song began to end and Kamera Schwester made her way off the pole and confidently strode off the platform. Yellow dripping down her leg in every footstep. The announcer picked up his microphone and cut the track, queuing up the next one, 'All Star' remixed of course and he called your stage name, 'Mormon Mongoloid' over the loudspeaker.

 _Okay Jared, here we go. Let's prove ourselves to Mallory's friends!_ You made a fist of determination and strutted onto the bright stage as the music as the music grew in volume. All lights became centered on you and you felt the eyes of everyone resting on you as you made your way down the long runways like platform to the island of a pole at the end. Fans who already knew you were preemptively cheering your name while the others were murmuring in confusion and excitement.

You reached the pole and set one hand against the metal, warm from the previous routine. Squinting your eyes past the multicolored spotlights, you peered into the crowd, searching for your friend. It took you a second, since it is quite hard to find something so small, but eventually you found her. She looked more guilty than you had ever seen her, like she was trying to shrink into her school uniform. Her eyes met your and she frantically mouthed, _Sorry._ Your were still unsure what could make Mallory so flustered when you peered over to her side. A large figure, towering over Mallory in mounds of juicy goodness all wrapped up in a deliciously tight fitting leather jacket and staring at you like he had just found god was… Zack? Zack and Mallory knew each other? Could they possibly be roommates? Well it didn't really matter you were just overwhelmingly happy that you were even able to see him again. Nothing could stop this feeling of pure bliss. _Oh Zack, I can show you who I am out here. You'll see how graceful I am and maybe, just maybe feel the same way about me that I feel about yo-"_

Your eyes drifted onto who was standing next to Zack. Those hips, those yoga pants, those emerald green eyes… _It couldn't be…._

You felt your heartbeat race and your lungs constrict. All the blood that had been pooling by your groin upon seeing Zack now ran to your head. Your hands were shaking and you felt yourself go cold despite the burning spotlight shining on you. Sweat ran down every inch of your being as you tried to say something, or to do anything. Your mouth was so dry and your hands felt clammy. Your muscles were tying themselves into knots. _How… How…_ You attempted to take a step forward but your distress and those damn heels would not let you succeed. As soon as you put your foot against the ground you felt you ankle completely give out and in an instant you were falling, past the stage, past the people, past Mallory and Zack, past everything you ever knew. _How could it be…?_

 _Stephen?_

That the last thought you had as the floor met with your face and your world that was once color became completely black.

* * *

Sorry for the delay, cumdumpsters. Shit is mad crazy out here in ching chong land. Hopefully this chapter keeps your assholes fully puckered. Touc mi dic


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